Sarcophagus

Despite the jade embedded upon his face,
it wasn’t him, who induced my fear.
Perhaps he wore the death mask of Pakal,
ruler of Palenque? And struggling to defeat him,
I retraced my steps to awareness.
It feels strange to wake up, escaping a dream’s power
to deceive, and unlike Pakal’s Temple of Inscriptions
there’s no more mystery, only certainty.
I know exactly what entombs me:
it was encrypted within the dream.

Tess Joyce

If you have any comments on this poem,  Tess Joyce  would be pleased to hear from you.